


Flip Me Over

by smolprintingpress



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mild Descriptions of Injury, Surgery, idk this is my first fic, pranks as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28119345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolprintingpress/pseuds/smolprintingpress
Summary: Hawkeye has to operate on BJ. BJ tries to cheer Hawkeye up with a light-hearted prank. This is based on a goofy reddit post about someone's surgery-related prank. I'll link it at the end.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Flip Me Over

**Author's Note:**

> If there's a medical inaccuracy in here, please suspend your disbelief. I'm too squeamish to look it up.

The bodies entered the camp in waves. The edges of Hawkeye’s vision shimmered as he and his comrades carried stretcher after stretcher into pre-op. Chest case, broken tibia, concussion, stomach bleeding. Shrapnel everywhere. _Hey, where have I seen this guy before? We’re gonna be in surgery for hours_ , Hawkeye thought. He surveyed the scene to gauge the status of everything. To his right, Margaret and Father Mulcahy tried to calm a boy who had misplaced his left forearm. And hey, behind them, by the ambulance—

“BJ! What are you doing?!” A man, huge, bigger than that guy Trapper boxed way back when. Leaning on BJ, straining to walk. The man collapsed, letting his whole weight fall on BJ. BJ, trying to balance the man’s weight, stumbling, rallying, and finally falling into a heap. Hawkeye raced around Margaret and Father Mulcahy. Charles, thank goodness, ran in to help the patient, summoning a couple nurses for backup. As they pulled the man off of BJ, Hawkeye could see his best friend clutching his knee and wincing with pain. Hawkeye finally slid to the ground by his side.

“Hey, hey, I gotcha. Where are you hurt?”

BJ grimaced. “My kneecap. Behind it, or something. It’s— it’s wrenched out of place. I should know what’s wrong, but I’m just— ouch! Damnit!”

“I’ll fix you up, but you’re not dying, so you’ll have to wait. I’m sorry— I wish I could— I’ll get someone to get you ice and morphine. You’ll be okay. And hey, do me a favor. I know it seems obvious now, but when you’re knocked out, I don’t want to cut open the wrong knee. I’m criminally tired, you know.” Hawkeye paused, rifling through his pockets. “Here’s a marker. You circle the right knee, okay?”

Charles and the two nurses came back with the stretcher and BJ consented to be lifted onto it. He winced again and Hawkeye impulsively grabbed his hand and squeezed. It was disconcertingly clammy, but BJ gave Hawkeye a trusting glance and he was reassured of his ability to help his friend.

“I’ll fix you, I swear.”

…

BJ stared at the ceiling in pre-op for an indeterminate length of time. It was difficult to focus on anything other than the pain, but he found himself dwelling on a mental picture of the concern he’d seen in Hawkeye’s face. Finally, Kellye came in with a morphine drip and a large ice pack. “Thank you,” said BJ, in a slightly strained voice, as she got him set up. “Morphine on the rocks,” he remarked with the five percent of his brain that wasn’t occupied with “Ouch, ow, I hate this.” Slowly, that five percent increased, becoming ten, twenty, thirty, until finally he barely felt his knee. _No wonder people get addicted to this stuff_.

BJ then remembered Hawkeye’s request, and the marker he’d placed in his breast pocket. He took out the marker and gingerly pulled his pant leg up to mark the knee. _There, done_. Having completed his one simple task, and being (almost) rid of his pain, he began thinking aimlessly and soon returned to thoughts of Hawkeye. He was in there without BJ, operating on all those people. BJ wished he could help. He wished he could tell Hawkeye that everything would be okay, but he’d be unconscious the next time they were together. Then he remembered the marker. Meanwhile, Klinger was passing through the ward in his navy nurse’s cape.

“Hey, Klinger, could you come here and help me with something?”

“Did your ice melt? No, wait: you’re finally going to let me sew you a camisole. I’ve been saying, with your arms—”

“No, it’s not that. Just come here, okay?”

…

Hawkeye lifted the sheet that covered BJ’s still body and the tension he’d held in his muscles released. He bent double with laughter. Margaret looked on in shock and confusion.

“Captain Pierce, are you feeling okay?”

“Margaret,” Hawkeye wheezed, “Look at him!”

Margaret peered over the anesthesiology equipment. Hawkeye gestured, still snickering a bit.

“He circled the right knee like I asked, but look at the rest of him!”

BJ’s bare legs were covered in permanent marker. His injured knee read, “Operate here, Doc!” with a big circle around it. His other knee simply said, “Don’t.” All around the operation site were encouraging smiley faces and poorly-drawn thumbs ups. His right foot, “Does this look like a knee to you?” and his left, “Get out of here!” On his calves, he had drawn frowny faces surrounding the message, “These are my best feature. Don’t screw them up.”

Margaret allowed herself a quick laugh and smile. “How about we get to the operation?”

Hawkeye, who had been lost in looking at BJ with a slight smile on his face, snapped to attention.

“Of course, of course, how could I forget.” He picked up his scalpel and started the delicate task of opening up his friend’s knee. Normally, his work felt precarious because his patients were kids, barely clinging to life. Today, all the precariousness came from the fact that noticing another message or doodle was liable to send him into hysterical laughter. He’d hate BJ for making his job harder if it weren’t so damn funny. His thigh said “Buy me a drink first,” for Christ’s sake.

Margaret watched as Hawkeye gently cut, stitched, and prodded BJ’s knee back into its proper form. She felt a sense of pride in herself and in Hawkeye, knowing that BJ was in the best hands. He deserved it after what he’d been through. Obviously, he shouldn’t have tried to support such a heavy weight by himself, but Margaret knew an honorable cause when she saw one.

This time, Hawkeye roused Margaret from her thoughts. “Hey, needle and silk please? Hello? I’m about done here. I’ve resisted the urge to shave off his mustache, but if we don’t get him out of here, I might give in.”

“I won’t tell.”

After a couple minutes of stitching, Hawkeye cut the thread. Almost on cue, Radar burst in the door.

“More choppers!” he shouted, breathing heavily.

“Alright, Radar,” said Hawkeye, somewhat reluctantly drawing the sheet back over BJ’s long legs, over “Touch on pain of death,” and “Please let me keep my toes!” “Why don’t you wheel BJ into post-op so Margaret and I can start for the landing pad?”

“Of course, sir.”

…

Later that night, Hawkeye and BJ bought each other drinks. BJ’s, for surviving surgery, and Hawkeye’s for performing it.

“Hey, thanks for patching me up,” said BJ.

“I’d say ‘No problem,’ but it was really tough in there. You gave me a serious case of the giggles. I sounded like a schoolkid!” Hawkeye responded.

“Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Lighten it? I was practically blinded!” Hawkeye said, mixing metaphors in a sloppy attempt to get the last word. BJ just laughed, able to tell from the look on Hawkeye’s face that his friend wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity of angry. He sipped his beer. It was nice to drink booze that wasn’t homemade for a change, and nice to dull the pain in his knee a bit.

After their lull in conversation had gone on a couple minutes, BJ asked, “You didn’t read the message on my backside, did you?”

“What? There was a—? How did you?”

“I had Klinger help me.”

“Well, what did it say?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here's the story that made me think, "[hmmm, m*a*s*h plot](https://strawberrygiorno.tumblr.com/post/635676721145888768/mattchewpicchu-salty-red-mage)." Nobody else was going to write it (at least not that I know of), so I tried my hand at writing fiction for the first time in like 6 years.


End file.
